


Clownfish

by whitachi



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt rambling, with tentacles. AS IS ONLY RIGHT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clownfish

So here's the thing about kaiju: they're all different. I mean, obviously as has been _clearly established_ some of them are identical on the genetic level and while we dumb-dumbs here on the planet Earth might think that identical DNA means you're going to have identical physical forms, clearly that isn't true on whatever side of whatever that the kaiju are coming from. What I'm saying is that kaiju are all their own special beautiful -- okay, like, beautiful like a thunderstorm or an avalanche or whatever, obviously not beautiful like a supermodel or David Bowie or something -- snowflakes, and they're all different.

But they get these weird little similarities. Even in the ones that aren't genetic clones. And maybe not so much little similarities as _big_ similarities, like having a huge stabby head, but we've got to keep things contextually accurate when it comes to kaiju, am I right? I mean, is a Category II really going to be deferring to a Category III when they both have big spitty acid mouths? Probably not. They probably have lunch together and talk about how great it's going to be when they can barf ammonia on all our trees until it's nice and comfy for them.

The category system is all a size thing anyway, right? It's all we've got. I mean, I've spent like sixteen hours _straight_ working over this tongue I got from a lousy Category _I_ \-- I mean, not like a Category I is nothing to sneeze at but, let's be serious, they're kind of literally, _literally_ child's play at this point, I mean seriously, I had the figure and it had a lot of points of articulation -- and that thing was all freezer burned like bad pudding pops. But the point is it's a thing. It's a thing I've seen before. It's a _thing_ , longer than my whole body and tingly in my hands even cold and years dead.

You'll see a point of anatomy on a kaiju in one of them and then you won't see it pop up again for years, if ever. It's maddening. It would make it so easy if you could just find a pattern, just find some sort of logic to it. Oh, but the thing about it is that, yeah, that would be _easy_. What the hell is fun about something that's easy? Every one of them is a puzzle, the kind I wish I could spend about nine hundred lifetimes taking apart. Karloff didn't have a single parasite on him. Or her. We could never figure it out on that one. We still haven't figured that part out. Oh, weird, people are going for the kaiju brains before they go for the kaiju penises, come on, guys, think of the bonkers teas you could be selling. Someone write me a freakin' check when they sell what they cut off that Cat II they knocked down in Manila. I have _seen_ it and the room it took up was bigger than my first apartment. I said at the time, oh, shit, people are going to make money off this.

They did, I mean, and it was in the form of sex toys, and I only know that as pure scientific research, and it's also none of your goddamn business. You're going to call the space between our world and theirs "The Throat?" Yeah, whatever, you shut up. You sell that blueprint and it's gonna make a great sleeve and it'll pay better than... okay, it probably won't. But it'll pay good. Security for after things are finished.

The thing is, though: do you know about clownfish and anemones? Of course you do, shut up. There are all these waving... fibers, tongues, I don't know what you call them specifically, I'm not a fish doctor. But anything else goes into them and they're screwed, while the cute little clownfish are safe and pretty and eat all the bits that the fingery tentacly bits got all juiced for them. I think. I only saw that movie when I was like a fetus, whatever.

You can't make analogs to kaiju from stuff in our world. They're foreign. They're _alien_. I mean, not just that they're silicon-based. I mean, they have nothing in their reproduction or biology that makes one lick of sense based on anything we know. Have you seen a kaiju lung? If you know anything about lungs you would crap your pants if you saw a kaiju lung. I can't even remotely explain to you a kaiju lung. I only saw a kaiju lung once and I still think of it when I can't sleep.

I'm getting away from my point. I had a point. I know I had a point. The thing is kaiju are all different but sometimes they're the same, and I saw that nearly freezedried tongue and then I saw the tongue on Otachi and the first thing I thought was "oh shit, it's exactly the same," and then the second thing I thought was.... hell, you know, I'm not playing. You take a time machine back to little baby Geiszler and you're gonna see him changing the file name on La_Blue_Girl.avi so his mom thinks it's nothing weird. I am not freakin' immune to society's ills, this is what I'm saying.

It'd burn my skin right the hell off if it touched me. At least, I'm pretty sure. They're all different, like I said. I read about one that hit Antofagasta when I was a kid and everything said that when the jets knocked it out there was no Blue at all. It just fell and was dead and left no poison behind. Maybe it was a fluke. I mean, there can always be mistakes on the processing line, right? Or maybe people just measured wrong in those days. But maybe it wasn't toxic. 

But I could smell it and it smelled like nothing. Like that antibacterial gel people would rub on their hands pre-war, if you even remember that junk. Right in front of my face and I could only think of clean hands. Kaiju don't eat people, usually; that's just messed up misinformation that gets spread. Their digestive systems are not at all adapted to handle carbon-based life, at least not yet. They eat us and they end up vomiting. I mean, that's what happened to Sausalito. No snacks for you, Mister Kaiju!

It wasn't going to eat me so all I could think about, two seconds away from being crushed, was that tongue. Not freezedried at all, not even a little. There was a heat coming off it, that weird sensation you'd get in your head when you'd go to one of the old science museums that we were around when we were kids, where you put one hand on the hot side of a radiator and the other hand on a cold side, and your brain would just lose its shit trying to figure out what to process. That's what I could feel coming off of every inch of that kaiju. Hot, cold, things between and outside of that that could never make sense to me.

Instant hard-on. What? I'll admit it. It's what everyone thinks of me anyway. Yeah, Newt, the first time he sees one up close he's going to jizz straight through his jeans. Well, I didn't, for the record, but I did get tight. And it was harder -- ha ha, get it -- because I could still feel the shivers of that effed up half-drift I did with that brain. She knew me; I knew her. Hell, better than any girlfriend I'd ever had, right?

So I figure the tongue on some of the kaiju is like a snake's: a sensory organ in more than just a contact fashion than ours are. She was smelling me. And the minute she was gone and I could hear the battle going on outside I just dropped to my knees and all I could think about was how if she'd kept going. I'd never seen anything so beautiful, all those anemone beauties, the best blue I'd ever seen. If I ever met someone with eyes that color I'd propose on the spot. Probably not go through with the wedding, but it'd be a hell of a night, right?

Wasn't safe yet to get out of the refuge. Couldn't go back to Chau yet. I could feel her fighting, feel her wings spreading out and all my stupid dirty little ass could think about was me being a clownfish, wrapped up in all of that waving blue. The big one that had gotten in my face, well, it was too big to get around my dick and not just be like rubbing into a couch cushion -- I mean, hey, I'm not a huge guy, I'll be honest about this shit -- but there were other parts, little wavering bits like flower stamens, beautiful and awful. 

In my head, though, I had a dick the size of a kid's forearm and a kaiju tongue could wrap around and around it like a barber's pole and because I knew so much about them, because I was now _part_ of them, it wouldn't burn me or hurt me at all. It'd ripple better than any hand or toy or daydream and we'd know each other, nice and perfect, monster and monster. I'd just come and come and come, right in front of all the other refugees, and then they'd applaud because I had sated the kaiju with my prowess and then she and I would settle down to raise a family.

You think weird things in times of danger. You do, shut up, you know you do. None of that happened, though, so I had wood in front of Chau, and then I had _double_ wood when we connected with the kaiju again, and then I _still_ had wood back at the Shatterdome and--

_Hermann hits him with his cane, solidly in the knee. "I have had more than enough. I insist you cease thinking," he says._

_"Not really sure how to do that, buddy," Newt says._

_"You are a genius," Hermann says, and sits down next to him. The rest of the Shatterdome is celebrating, but the two of them have found it hard to be around the throng, with the other throng that is shrieking in their heads. "You can surely find a way."_

_Newt puts a hand on Hermann's thigh, and despite the face Hermann makes at that, rests his head on his shoulder. "Sorry about my brain, dude."_

_"Well," Hermann says, and rests his hand atop Newt's. "It happens to the best of us."_


End file.
